Wammy's House: First Generation
by Bird on a branch
Summary: The first generation was just an 'experiment'. It was Quillish Wammy's 'duty' (or so he thought), to 'produce' a successor of L's. An alternate and a backup.


Wammy's House is one of several orphanages established by Quillsh Wammy (also known as Watari), located in Winchester, England. Founded after World War II, Wammy's House was initially a training facility for especially gifted children, the most accomplished of which was L Lawliet. After L's success as a detective, the goal of Wammy's House became to produce a successor to L.

Or that is what you is told. It isn't a lie, nor is it the whole truth. But then again, when have you ever heard/told the whole truth?

The first generation existed of just five children, A, B, X, Y, and Z. The first generation was also, just an 'experiment'. It was Quillish Wammy's 'duty' (or so he thought), to 'produce' a successor of L's. A successor? Rather an alternate. A backup. As for A and B, they were Alternate and Backup, or rather, an alternate and a backup.

Though in my opinion, Quillish Wammy shouldn't be blamed. A world without L would be dark. And perhaps Quillish Wammy could have done it different, but what happened has happened and we can't change the past. Nor should we change the future, as regards that what is fated.

October 31th, 1992

It is a cold winter day. This may sound logical (read obvious), but in some countries it is warm on winter days. In other countries, they don't even have winter days, as they do not acknowledge the different seasons. I am X. And next to me sits Y. And next to Y sits Z. And next to Z stands mister Wammy.

Sitting here is a blessing that is meant as a curse; a punishment I find rather enjoying. Y, Z, and I, the three of us are always together. In a place like this you need companions and compassion, although the latter is hard to seek and even harder to find. But I'm floating in the sea of my thoughts, and it's time to get back to the shore; our being here.

I am the third best of the House. Y the fourth. Z the fifth. Taking into account that there are only five candidates in this never ending competition, we're doing rather ill.

L. The greatest detective of the world. The man who no one has seen. The man whose successors we are supposed to become and be. It is A who will have to become L's successor. It is A who will have to carry all the weight. It is A whose bones will break under said weight, and I can only hope he won't realize this. Because if he does, he will crack like a stem straw. I think L doesn't realize the weight he carries. Or else his bones would have broken already. And he wouldn't be able to stand up straight because said weight presses too heavily on his shoulders. And he wouldn't force anyone to carry the weight when he cracks like a stem straw. Or would he? Again, I float away. Once again, I let myself float away. Like a rubber duck in the bathtub. Floating in the same water, unable to escape, but not wanting to either. It is then that I feel Y touch my hand and I turn to face him. Did he see my empty stare? The stare I stare when I see nothing and everything at the same time. No.

''You are the least now.'' Y says. No compassion. Not that I need it. But Y doesn't know how I think about it, so he could say something else too. He still can. He doesn't know I find it a blessing, me being the least, and therefore the last one to crack.

''I don't mind.'' I say. Neither Y nor Z understood my smile. I did.

October 31th, 1995

A distastes the winter. The moment his pale blue eyes spot only the slightest bit of snow, his smile disappears. He looks, no stares, at the white flakes everyone seems to like so much they are currently trying to catch them. I am B. And next to me sits A. And when he finally gives me the opportunity to look him in the eyes by turning his face to me, I can only stare with the same hate at as A had stared at the snow. Only snow cannot kill. And the numbers above his head will in less than a day. In ten minutes, the numbers have drastically decreased. Why? Because ten minutes ago, we heard that A is still number one and B is still number two. You see, when I look at someone's face, regardless whether it is in real life or not, I see their names. And their remaining lifespan too. Names and numbers. Numbers and names. I see them for as long as I can remember, and therefore I must have been born with it. At first, I thought it was normal. I thought everyone saw it. No one ever did. So I keep it secret, now. A doesn't know I know what I know. A doesn't know I know he will die today, or rather, tonight. I consider talking to him, though I know numbers do not increase. I know they shrink, but they do not grow. Once it is done, it is beyond repair. Still.

''What do you want to become when you are older?'' I ask. A. The twelve year old who will never turn thirteen. He seems a bit taken aback by the question, as it's no question I normally ask him. Still, he answers me seriously.

''L, of course.''

''Are you certain about that?'' He frowns at my question. I give him time to think, but only a moment.

''It's not that you have to, only if you want to.'' I say. More wrinkles appear on his forehead. Maybe he thinks I want to steal the title for myself. Maybe he thinks I'm onto him. Maybe I am both. I walk away, not bothering continuing the conversation. I gave him food for thought, and he won't eat it. I know because the numbers stay the same. The others, X, Y, and Z, will live longer. About another decade, for now at least. I don't really care. Y and Z have the same numbers, so I suppose they will die together. Or maybe not. It bothers me I can't see mine. But I suppose that is for the better. And when I find A, dead in his bed, I whisper his real name in his ear, and I am not sad. Because, I suppose it was for the better.


End file.
